Copyright 2018 Susan Bailey. All rights reserved.[/caption]
Our backyard is my little slice of paradise. After the loss of our above-ground pool a few years ago, we replaced it with a carefully planned patio. The space includes a lovely koi pond (without the fish), equipped with a fountain. Complementing the pond are plantings of yellow lilies and tall grass. A cherub statue, looking up as if pondering, sits on one of the rocks.
This is my place of prayer during the warmer months. On a love seat next to the pond I spend twenty minutes each day at dawn saying my morning prayers and meditating on a hymn. I look forward to this time of quiet. Some nights I go out and brave the mosquitoes to meditate at the pond; the fountain’s LED light causes the water to sparkle.
A few weeks ago I felt a sudden impulse to add someone else to my pond: the Blessed Mother. Recalling a statue in the basement, I brought it up and placed it on a rock next to the cherub. I love gazing at her as the fountain sprinkles water down like rain around her. And at night, the LED light shines on her.
Mary and I have had an on-again, off-again relationship, but it is certainly no fault of hers. I have spent a lot of time with Mary in prayer groups and in reading, yet I could not seem to grasp in my head or or my heart how or why I should spend time with her. It took a small family crisis to answer that question and draw me back to her side.
A short while ago my son and I had a serious falling out. We fundamentally disagreed on an issue and could not find our way back to each other. It broke my heart. We had always been so close, sharing thoughts and dreams together. The day of after that falling out, I thought of Mary and fled to her side. I prayed by the pond both day and night, shedding tears and asking for her help.
Like her Son Jesus, Mary does not ask, “Where have you been? Why have you been ignoring me?” She does not pass judgment or make me feel guilty. She opens her arms and welcomes home her errant child. I felt no hesitation in turning to her. She is a mother; she knows.
Over the course of a month I turned to her daily. I even repositioned the statue so I could see it from my bedroom window. She is a constant reminder and a perfect reflection of that sweet and special love of the Father, Son and Spirit. A love freely given to me, and one I do not deserve. And yet I can accept it and that, to me, is one of the great mysteries of a relationship with the Omnipotent God. He has no reason to love me other than the fact that He is Love itself.
Mary, of course, heard my prayers and set to work, and in the end my son and I reconciled. That first phone call that set things right again was a balm on my heart, dispelling the grief and healing the wound. Mary had sent a sign signaling the change of heart, one which I was fortunate enough to recognize because she opened my eyes to see it.
She heard me. Even though I had turned my back on her in the past, she attended to my needs. All it took for me to reconcile with my son was a simple invitation; it was the same with Mary. With Jesus, she waits for any sign of turning around, of coming home. Like the Father to the Prodigal Son, she too rushes to my side.
That line from the Shakers hymn, “Simple Gifts,” says it perfectly: “To turn, turn, will be our delight; till by turning, turning, we come 'round right.”
Copyright 2018 Susan W. Bailey
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